


In Our Garden After the War

by stitchcasual



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Absolute fluff, F/M, M/M, Multi, flowers for gladio, these three deserve so much happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 12:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchcasual/pseuds/stitchcasual
Summary: A moment of peace in the Citadel gardens for Gladio and his King and Queen





	In Our Garden After the War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barefootwits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barefootwits/gifts).

> somethingsomething vague handwaving on the game ending just pretend this is how it all worked out ok? I didn't feel like trying to justify everything (and if I did, it would mean my friends who haven't finished the game wouldn't be able to read this and since they just got past Altissia, they need some happiness, y'know).
> 
> I had [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyP_jjv_udQ) playing in my head some of the time while writing this and it prompted the title
> 
> Dedicated to barefootwits, who was the inspiration for this idea in the first place and constantly forces me to consider happiness rather than angst <3 I hope you enjoy!

Sunlight dapples the ground, floating lazily through the canopy of trees, warming the stone bench enough that they've stayed out here for nearly the full day under the golden-red of the occasionally falling leaves. Gladio brushes one off his book as he turns the page. Against his chest, Noctis doesn't even stir as Gladio shifts the way he holds the book so he can see the text better. If he wasn't so used to the way the King sleeps (that is, like the dead and in any position), he'd be concerned by the way Noct's face is half buried in the soft fabric of his shirt. As it is, as long as he can still feel and hear the soft, measured exhales, he's content to sit exactly where he is and be a human pillow.

It's a rare day that they can do this, take time for themselves and no one else. Gladio suspects Ignis of having a hand in it. Nothing happens with the King's schedule without Ignis knowing about it, even if he isn't necessarily the one who keeps it anymore. That obligation has been passed off to someone thoroughly vetted and trained by Ignis, though Gladio would be hard pressed to say exactly whom. He needs to change that: just because the dawn has returned and his duties feel lightened doesn't mean he can slack off at his job. He's still the King's Shield. He bats a leaf out of the air before it lands on Noct and smiles to himself. Nothing's getting to the King here.

Footsteps sound behind him, light against the stone walkway that leads out farther into the citadel's gardens. Gladio keeps his gaze on the book in his hands and Noct between his arms, unperturbed at the approach. The intruder walks closer and pauses by Gladio's shoulder, the one not pressed against the back of the bench. Gladio tilts his head to present his cheek for a kiss, his eyes closing as his smile widens at the brush of lips.

Luna moves now into Gladio's field of vision, her hands and arms full of flowers she must have picked from around the gardens, her feet bare. She looks down at Noct, still sleeping peacefully, and her face softens into an utterly fond expression. He’d been in this exact position when she left fifteen or thirty minutes ago on her walk, and he stays where he lies even as Luna begins laying out all the flowers she’d gathered on her walk along his body.

Their long fight might be over, but that doesn’t mean that the politics and keeping of nations aren’t taxing in their own ways. Noct naps almost as much now as he used to as a younger man, stolen moments on the throne, in the council room, on benches in the halls or gardens. At least today he has Gladio to lie on. Luna has come across him cuddling a suit of armor before, while Gladio watched and took pictures, amused as hell. Gladio had promised immediately after being found out that he wouldn’t allow it to happen again, but Luna had to admit it was pretty funny after they substituted the armor for something softer.

Now, in the quietude of the gardens, Luna takes a seat on the bench behind Gladio, folding up her right leg onto the bench to scoot in close to his back. She reaches a hand across his shoulder, holding it palm up.

“The small red ones, please,” she says, and kisses Gladio’s neck when he plucks them from Noct’s back and places them in her hand. He feels Luna’s fingers through his hair and hums, leaning into the soft scrape of her fingernails against his scalp. As she continues playing with his hair, he picks back up where he’d left off in his book, occasionally handing over flowers when Luna requests them. He’s not sure what she’s doing back there, though he has his suspicions, but it feels good and Luna seems happy so he’s content to let her go on.

Eventually the sun sinks low enough in the sky that its light no longer warms the gardens to the same extent, and the shadows grow longer around them on their bench. Luna’s hands wrap around Gladio’s torso, finished with their work in his hair, though she’s careful to not disturb Noct as he slumbers on. She presses as close against Gladio as she can to take advantage of the warmth he radiates and rests her cheek on his shoulder blade. Gladio switches grips on the book so he can thread the fingers of one of his hands with Luna’s as he reads. He can feel when her breathing drops to the slower, deeper rhythm of sleep and her hand slacks against his.

The words in his book grow hard to read, and he closes the book over a finger and bows his head. He never thought they’d get here, not after all they went through. He hadn’t allowed himself to truly hope. In his wildest dreams, perhaps, the ones he knew were flights of fancy and nothing more, the ones he never spoke aloud to anyone, not even Noct, for fear they’d pop like soap bubbles and disappear, only there had he allowed himself to consider this moment, this beautiful, impossible moment.

“You crying?” Noct asks, his voice sleep-soft and hoarse. He still hasn’t moved, has probably only just begun the long wake-up process. 

Gladio taps the spine of his book gently against Noct’s shoulder, just to hear the slurred protests from him, and doesn’t even consider lying. “Yeah.”

Noctis inchworms his way to a more vertical leaning position, the stubble of his beard scratching at Gladio’s neck before he manages to push away and look Gladio in the eyes. He props himself up with one hand against Gladio’s chest and traces the fingertips of his free hand down Gladio’s cheek.

“Why—wait, what the fuck happened to your hair?”

Gladio blinks at the sudden change of topic. But he can feel Luna shaking behind him, and soon her laughter floats free of her and fills the area around them. Noctis and Gladio share a bemused look for a moment before Noct snorts and laughs himself. He moves his hand from Gladio’s cheek to gently touch his hair, and his laughter calms until just a smile remains on his face.

“You look good,” he says, leaning in to kiss Gladio. He kisses like he wakes up, slow and languid, unhurried and self-indulgent. It’s a far cry from some of the kisses they shared years ago, when they didn’t know what the next day would bring and if they’d stay alive to see the dawn. But now that they have all the time in the world, Noct has grown newly covetous of each intimate moment together, drawing them out like taffy.

“You really do,” Luna agrees. “I took pictures; I’ll show you later.” Her lips press against the side of Gladio’s neck, and she makes her way at a teasing, glacial pace from the juncture of his shoulder to his ear. Gladio can feel both her and Noct smile as he groans, trapped between his King and Queen. 

They take pity on him after a minute, breaking away to meet each other across Gladio’s shoulder instead. Noct’s hand covers Gladio’s where it still is entwined with Luna’s, and they all squeeze at the others. It feels right, like they were puzzle pieces meant to fit together. Noctis and Luna had found they matched long ago when they were children; Noctis and Gladio had figured themselves out eventually, after years of dancing around and avoiding it, but Gladio had always assumed they were pieces in a line, he and Luna flanking Noctis, and he’d accepted this. He still counts it as something of a miracle that Luna returns his affections, those feelings he’d only realized he had when it looked to be too late as the tides washed over Altissia.

He shifts on the bench, laying his forehead against Noctis’s shoulder. Around him, Luna and Noctis pull away like they’d synchronized their movements, and they each grab one of his hands and tug. He can tell they’re trying to get him off the bench, but they won’t truly engage the strength he knows they both possess to move him if he doesn’t truly want to get up. It’s endearing. He, on the other hand, has no such compunctions.

Gladio stands from the bench and in one sweeping motion, wraps one arm around each of his lovers’ waists, and hoists them over his shoulders, ignoring Noctis’s indignant squawk and savoring Luna’s effervescent laughter. She’d been so serious for too long, her duties as the youngest Oracle in history and the enormity of their struggle against Niflheim weighing her down. Gladio counts it as a personal win any time he can make her laugh like this, free and unrestrained. What she does now, ruling at Noctis’s side, is still important work and heavy in its own way, but it allows for more levity than their old life.

He sets them both down at the large glass doors that lead back into the citadel from the gardens, not a long walk from their bench but far enough that they wouldn’t have been visible from the door should someone look out for them. The illusion of privacy is nearly as important as the actual thing, and it’s about all they can usually get. Gladio can see Ignis on the other side of the room beyond the doors, holding a stack of papers, which means there’s something that needs the King or Queen’s attention but it’s not urgent or Ignis would have come out to get them. He turns to look down at Luna.

“Socks,” he says, then turns to Noct. “And food. Then we’ll talk to Iggy.”

He gets a murmur of agreement from Luna and a half-hearted groan from Noct as they look through the glass and separately wrap the invisible vestments of their offices around themselves before they re-enter the world that expects such things from them. 

The warmth from inside the citadel washes over Gladio as he pulls one of the doors open, and he shivers at the change in temperature. Ignis looks up, bowing his head respectfully as Luna and Noctis enter. The two wait for Gladio just across the threshold; Luna threads her arm through Gladio’s, standing close to his left side, and Noctis takes Gladio’s other hand, leading them across the room to Ignis to let him know of their plan.

It’s not the most perfect ending to their day, Gladio could think of a few things he’d rather do than be present for policy meetings, but both Luna and Noctis are still smiling, half boneless with contentment from their day outside, and _ alive_, so it’s not the worst ending either. Any day he still has them both is a good day. He’ll weather anything for them, but he does cast one last glance at the garden as they walk down the hall, wishing they could have stayed.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/stitchcasual) at the same handle, yelling about fictional characters usually


End file.
